De profundis clamavi ad Te, Domine; Domine, exaudi vocem meam.
As I write this with a heavy heart, these sorrowful words echo and re-echo through my mind:
“Out of the depths I have cried unto Thee, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice.”
They’re from Psalm 129 (130 by Protestant reckoning), and they begin the Roman Catholic Burial Service for the Dead. They’ve replayed again and again in my mind since Sept. 4.
That was the dies horribilis that Abbé Dominique Bourmaud died at the age of 62. For several years, Father was our priest at St. Anthony of Padua Traditional Catholic Church, the Society of St. Pius X (or SSPX) chapel near Mount Holly, starting about a decade ago. When he passed away, Fr. Bourmaud was the pastor at St. Mary’s Assumption in St. Louis.
“Greetings from ‘Misery’!” he joked, punning on the locals’ oft-mangled mispronunciation of “Missouri,” in a letter he penned some 18 months ago.
That letter remains atop my dresser. He wished Julie (my wife) and me well, especially with regard to her heart attack some months before. He said he’d pray for us, as always. And Father enclosed a nice picture of the statue of his adopted city’s namesake, the great Catholic monarch, King St. Louis IX, as sculpted by the famed German artist, C.H. Niehaus, back in the better days of 1906, when Pius X himself was pope.
Fr. Bourmaud himself was a quintessential Frenchman. He was, in fact, the most conservative man I ever knew. He hailed from the Vendée, that most Catholic region of France––famous for its heroic Royalist resistance and fidelity to the saintly Louis XVI against the murderous, marauding raiders of the Masonic and satanic Napoléon and all his evil minions of the illegitimate French Revolution. Napoléon committed a small genocide in the Vendée, annihilating nearly its whole population: men, women and children. Indeed, as Father told us, to this day, one rarely sees that disgraceful tricouleur rag of the usurping French Republic (and of course, as everyone knows, all republics are evil and satanic things; abominations unto Almighty God and violations of His law, as Scripture and Tradition both clearly teach, and democracy is a heinous sin). No, instead one sees displayed the real flag of France: the Bourbon banner––ancient symbol of France’s great kings and, with its tripartite fleur-de-lys, simultaneously a symbol of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Triune God Himself.
Fr. Bourmaud spent the night with us some 10 years ago. Julie, the best cook I’ve ever known, made him coq au vin. And even though she’d never made it before, Father loved it and pronounced it wonderful:
“Oh, Mme. Julie! You cook like a Frenchwoman!”
We prayed a rosary together. I showed him a DVD of my one-man show as G.K. Chesterton, the great Catholic apologist; a man who much influenced C.S. Lewis. By 8:30 p.m., Father was ready to retire for the evening, and I showed him to our guest room.
“Toh-moss,” he said, his pronunciation of my name always somewhere between French and Spanish, “be sure to wake me by 5:30 a.m., so zat I may get to ze confessional.”
“OK, Father,” I agreed. “Bonne nuit!”
Came the morning. I was up before my alarm went off. But so was Father. I trotted downstairs and found him already there, dressed in his cassock and making coffee.
“Bonjour, mon cher Abbé,” I said in greeting. “Le lait est au réfrigérateur.”
But he laughed, gesturing slightly with his coffee cup and responding in English:
“Oh, no, I drink it black––black like my soul! Haha!”
We both chuckled at this. Fr. Bourmaud was well known for his sense of humour. He was always possessed of an easy manner with everyone. He was fluent in five languages. Including his flawless Parisian French, he spoke English, of course, and Spanish, Italian and Portuguese. He taught philosophy, and he spent more than half the years of his priesthood teaching in the seminaries of the SSPX. He was also an excellent writer and editor. For several years, he edited Angelus magazine, a publication of the SSPX. And his One-Hundred Years of Modernism: A Genealogy of the Principles of the Second Vatican Council should be required reading for all real Catholics. More recently, he authored An Introduction to Catholic Social Doctrine. He autographed a copy of the former for us, and it sits upon my shelf, along with the Bible and all my other Catholic books. This marvellous book is an excellent dissection of the horribly heretical Vatican II, its incalculable damage to Holy Mother Church and the awful false popes––especially the archvillain, Paul VI––by which we’ve been beset ever since the death, 63 years ago this month, of Pius XII, our last real pope; truly a saint, that man, famous for saving nearly a million Jews from the Holocaust.
Talking of books, Fr. Bourmaud read my own novel, The Chalice, a roman à clef and a work of theological horror (rather like Blatty’s Exorcist, only far better, as it is grammatically, stylistically and certainly theologically correct). During a Texas sabbatical, Father read it cover to cover and gave it his invaluable critique, offering the sort of insights only possible when one has read every page and understands such a work implicitly, as my English teacher wife will tell you, re her students. More importantly, he gave it his priestly blessing and wished me luck. Father understood its significance and agreed that it, especially its two concomitant screenplays, which I also penned, could have the same impact as Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ.
The True Barque of Peter
Father quoted me in one of his sermons, both ex pulpita and in our church bulletin’s recapitulated printed version, taking on a Modernist muddlehead and his namby-pamby, wishy-washy, ersatz version of Christianity; the hallmark of wet liberals:
“‘If he gets such basics as his spelling, grammar and style wrong, what else will he get wrong?’”
I was honoured.
Ordained a priest by Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre himself, 40 years ago, Fr. Bourmaud exclusively served the SSPX, which the good Archbishop created in 1970 as a means of preserving the True Church against the Modernistic, relativistic and syncretical heresies of Vatican II. Father shepherded flocks all over the world, including multiple parishes all over America and in Spain, Australia, Argentina and Kenya. He spent himself to labour ceaselessly in the vineyards of Christ, bringing the sacraments to faithful Catholics wherever he was stationed.
He was a tireless defender of the real France: not the whiny, wimpy, hijacked France of the Masonic revolution of 1789 and Macron, that illegitimate, usurping, sawed-off mommy’s boy––the poxy poster child of contraception, relativism, atheism, invading Mohammedan Orcs, the Anti-Culture and death; no––Father served the macho France of real men who hunt and fish; who work hard and play hard; who know how to live; who drink wine deeply and love their wives and many children even more deeply. There’s more than a quarter-million of them now in France, and that’s enough to revive a nation. Most believing French Catholics who now attend Mass attend the chapels of the SSPX or other such Latin Mass venues, and they reject Vatican II, John Paul the Overrated, Francis the Worst and their phoney ape of the True Church, the false Novus Ordo (“new order”) “church” of paedophiles, atheists, relativists, syncretists, apostates and Mafia money-launderers. We of the SSPX take a very dim view of such people and things, and Deo gratias, we don’t have such problems.
Talking of that Jesuit jackal, Francis the Worst––a little antichrist and the Devil’s good friend––even our enemies sometimes inadvertently do us favours. By recently attempting to illegally dispense with Benedict’s motu proprio, Summorum Pontificum, and to thus ban the divinely inspired and indescribably beautiful Latin Mass of All Time, the boneheaded, bug-eyed, Beethoven-hating Bergoglio has ended up not just with one rotten egg but a whole Western omelette all over his sagging, sallow, suilline face. He has driven countless people straight into the arms of the SSPX and other such Traditional Catholic groups.
America’s cowardly bishops––a lot of apostate, pervert-coddling, money-worshipping, closet Sodomites, molesters and evil wolves in sheep’s clothing––have locked the doors of their phoney Novus Ordo “churches” in recent months, ’cause ––y’know––COVID cooties! Oooh, booga-booga! Fine. You freaks will burn in Hell soon enough anyway, ad majorem Dei gloriam, and you, too, have done us a whopping favour, however much you never intended to. And thank God, we are served by the SSPX, and we’re not under the sorry jurisdiction of you diocesan dogs.
How have these villains helped? The upshot is this: the joke goes, “Thanks a lot, Jorge. Because of you, I can’t find a parking space at my SSPX chapel of a Sunday morning!”
Packed we are indeed. It’s truly Catholic at St. Anthony’s; truly universal. Our members are white, black, Indian, Filipino and Hispanic. The message of Christ is for everyone, and all people can avail themselves of it, no matter how much the boneheaded bishops, the beastly Bergoglio and other devils disguised as men try to suppress it.
After Hapless Jorge’s latest stupidity, St. Anthony’s is filled to the brim on Sunday mornings for the High Mass. At first, the offering collections quadrupled. Now they have sextupled.
I can just hear Fr. Bourmaud’s Gallic laughter now, ringing throughout the halls of Heaven.
A crusader for Christ
Fr. Bourmaud was a tireless crusader for Christ and the True Church, and certainly he was known for his efforts against the murder of babies. I well remember standing with him, rosary in hand, on a cold April morning in 2012. Father led a group of perhaps 20 of us from St. Anthony’s as we stood outside an abortion mill in Charlotte, all of us praying. We and the Baptists near our group were all well-mannered; quiet and hurting no one.
The same could not be said of the feminazi harpies some 30 feet away from us. With a terrible frisson of fear and a chill down my back, I still recall the shrieks of their demonic laughter and taunts; the soundtrack of Satan and the horrific hollering of Hell. Awful. They were neo-pagan freaks, their obese, half-naked bodies desecrated with devilish tattoos up and down their flabby arms and earrings in grotesquely inappropriate places. Their pockmarked faces were frozen in a collective rictus of luciferian glee. Clearly demonically possessed, the lot of ’em.
In those days, I was the editor of The Belmont Banner. I managed to get Fr. Bourmaud and an accompanying article about our efforts on the front page.
The most satisfying memory of that day was that of the young girl. A vehicle exited this hellish hole and crawled slowly past our group before stopping briefly. A window rolled down, and out stretched a tiny teenaged arm, holding a note for Fr. Bourmaud. The note read:
“Thank God you were here. I didn’t do it.”
Father maintained a heavy workload of preaching, teaching, writing and bringing the sacraments to the faithful, including extreme unction for the sick and the dying in hospitals at all hours. He enlightened the ignorant. He helped the poor. He was a model of what a priest should be: an alter Christus. His was a life of seemingly tireless dedication.
But eventually, all of this took a toll on his health. In August, he suffered a series of strokes and heart attacks, exacerbated by contracting the Wuhan ’flu. He lapsed into a coma and was placed on a ventilator. It would have pleased him enormously to die on Sept. 3, the Feast of St. Pius X. He nearly made it. But Almighty God ordained that it should be the next day instead, and Father slipped quietly away, very early that Saturday morning, mere hours after the passing of said feast.
Pray for us, Fr. Bourmaud. From your heavenly vantage point, pray that the satanic and murderous Xi Jinping, his wicked Chinese minions and their liberal water-carriers, especially the treasonous members of the Demonrat leadership, are defeated and soon burning in the ninth circle of Hell with all the other traitors. Pray that the yoke of their needless, fictitious kung ’flu restrictions is cast off; that liberalism in all its monstrous, multiply tentacular forms be defeated everywhere; that the Catholic monarchies of the Western world be restored and with them the glory of the West; that the evil, usurping Joseph Biden and all his satanic ilk be crushed and burn in Hell for ever, to the greater glory of Almighty Christ and His infinite justice; that the wicked Francis the Worst and all his phoney apostate kind be crushed like bugs in the dust and that Vatican II be repealed and the Novus Ordo ape be destroyed, leading to the restoration of the One True, Holy and Apostolic Catholic Church founded by Christ Himself; and that, as St. Pius X prayed, “all things be restored in Christ,” that we may establish the everlasting peace and justice of Almighty God amongst all men and nations.
Merci beaucoup pour tout, mon cher Abbé. You are very much missed, my dear friend. I pray that one day, you and I will meet again. I know that Jesus has welcomed you into His arms and said unto you:
“Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of thy Father’s house.”
Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat ei. Amen.
---The views and opinions expressed in “A Conservative Point of View” are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Lincoln Herald.